


Physicality

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_smooch, F/M, Fluff, Intimacy, Kissing, Romance, Scars, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desire is about many things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living With The Scars

He barely twitches when she strokes her hand over the knobbled scar where the tracker once sat, cunningly embedded between his shoulder-blades, impossible to reach.

It’s a brief caress - curious, but with a fascinated edge that she acknowledges, even as she finds it distasteful in herself. The same conflicts exist regarding the raised flesh. The sharp lines leading into the scar contrast with the lumpen centre where flesh scabbed and healed, and scabbed and healed; the view of it is visceral and both intrigues and revolts her.

Amelia shivers in spite of the warmed room and the hot skin of the man beside her. She can see him all those years ago, gritting his teeth as he reached behind to try to cut the tracker out, risking paralysis for the hope of freedom from the endless hunt.

Now he's not running from anything, lying in bed, easy with her presence, relaxed after sex. Lover, not fighter; hard asleep and hogging her pillows. _Men!_

"Doesn’t hurt."

Or not so fast asleep.

"Sorry."

He snorts at her surprise, and flicks his locks over his shoulder with a toss of his head. His body doesn’t move an inch from where it sprawls in her bed, but there’s an amusement in his eyes as he watches her before his lashes lower over his eyes. "You can touch itif you want."

She wants to, but it seems...voyeuristic.

Instead, Amelia bends down and kisses the mounded pink flesh where the rest of his back is a smooth and freckled tan. He catches his breath, surprised, and her lips curve against his skin.


	2. Mother Marks

He brushes his lips across Teyla’s midriff and thinks the ripple of her laughter is the best sound in the world.

"Should I ask what you are doing, John, or am I better off not knowing?"

It’s a lazy question, low and easy, expecting a glib answer. He props his head up on his elbow and regards her where she lies, naked and sated and damp on the piled pillows. One hand slides beneath cool sheets to skim the sleek length of her thighs with an open palm. "Just looking."

"And touching."

"Yeah, that, too."

He tugs at the sheet with his teeth since his hands are otherwise occupied, and she laughs and pulls it off so he can see her. There’s no embarrassment at her nakedness, she doesn’t see anything to be ashamed of in the curves of her body, in the scars on her skin.

Hard muscle lies beneath the surface, but a soft covering of fat lies on top - the slight ‘baby belly’ she hasn’t yet lost, although Torran’s gone two years old now.

You’d never see a belly like this on TV or in advertising on Earth - they’re all model-smooth, unpuckered, unscarred, nipped, tucked, and photoshopped. Teyla’s stomach is firm flesh, but softly lined with the faint striations of pregnancy - a handful of translucent lines around her belly button, and the scar from the explosion that killed Dr. Hewston five years ago - a star-shaped scar, thanks to Carson’s work before he died.

It’s not a perfect stomach, unmarked skin, but he finds it unspeakably sexy all the same.

John leans over and kisses her belly again, then rests his cheek against her hipbone.


	3. Tickle And Play

Jennifer sneaks her hand in under the edge of his t-shirt, letting her fingers linger on his flank.

She likes the softness of him under her hands, the 'give' of his body, well-fleshed but not fat.

He's not obese - not even close, although his blood pressure bears careful watching. What he has is the expected solidity of a body type that burns energy through it's twenties, then gears back in its thirties. If he doesn't have the ripped abs of Ronon or the Atlantis marines, well, that doesn't bother Jennifer. She likes his 'padding'.

"Stop that," he mumbles, half turning over in the bed.

"Ticklish?" She lets her fingers trail up his side and giggles when he wriggles and glares at her over his shoulder.

"Don't even _think_ about--! Jen!" The undignified squawk of protest rings through his room as she grazes her nails up his side and over the flesh of his chest and tweaks his nipple, laughing as he yelps. "Oh, you are going to _pay_ for that--"

'Paying for that' involves a light struggle between them, her hands teasing his skin, tickling snatches of flesh as he slaps at her tormenting fingers. If anyone else saw the self-declared 'First Scientist' of Atlantis smirking as he fights off the advances of the city's Chief Medical Officer, they'd probably stare.

They'd certainly stare when Rodney rolls on top of her, pinning her hands under his so she can't get at him any longer. "Hah. Got you!"

She smiles up at him, lying beneath him without struggle. "Yeah. You do."

As the slow look of wonder grows on his expression, Jennifer leans up to kiss his open mouth.


End file.
